Leftovers

A few leftover pictures

The Almirante Brown VII, our transportation down the Rio Madeira and up the Rio Amazonas to Manaus

This is what the "2nd" level looked like when we first arrived, spacious and clean

By departure time, there wasn't much room for anything or anyone else

The monument in the Plaza in front of the Manaus Opera House

The Teatro Amazonas or Manaus Opera Huose
A final Brasilian breakfast

Manaus and beyond

Our original trip plan was to ride the bikes all the way home through Central America and Mexico. After experiencing the border crossings on the road to South America we decided that we would would spare the costs and chaos on the return by flying ourselves and the bikes from Bogota to Miami instead of Panama.

Then while we were riding down the river to Manaus, and out of contact with the rest of the world, a border skirmish between Colombia and a couple of it's neighbors was playing itself out. Fellow riverboat passengers had divergent opinions about the wisdom of a couple of gringos going through Venezuela under the protection of Hugo Chavez. The expressions of our friends and families had become less diffuse. On the river, both Landon and I got the sense that the trip was over, and that it was time to go home.

So the day after arriving in Manaus, we went to the airport to see if we could arrange transportation to the States. We were soon told that we would have to use an agency, which brought to mind the troubles we had in Bogota. We were skeptical when we met Arnaldo, the administrative and financial officer of a major cargo company in Manaus. He is a fellow motorcycle enthusiast (pictured above with Landon), and it didn't take him too long get our respect and confidence. He ended up spending the better part of two days arranging for the transport of our selves and our motorcycles out of Brazil and negotiating our way through the practical and official labyrinths involved. We wouldn't have been able to do it without him and are utterly grateful to him on many levels.

The first evening he invited us to his home, and we went down to the marina, and he took us for a ride on his boat along the riverfront.

Then we went upstream to a remote restaurant along the banks in the jungle, where we were the only table being served. We had--what else--fish. It was so good. At one point Arnaldo asked the proprietors to turn off the generator so we could experience the darkness and silence of the jungle at night. The lights of Manaus were barely visible on the horizon. It was an unforgettable evening.

The following day (Thursday) the bikes were packed up and delivered to the airport. The next day (Friday) we flew to Miami, Florida.

Holy Week was beginning and Spring Break was in full force. If they weren't full, hotels near the airport were ten times the price of our average room in South America. But we found one near the cargo terminal that was across the street from a Burger King. Our first meal back in the US was a burger with real dill pickles and fries with lots of ketchup. On Palm Sunday we went to mass at St. Dominic's Parish down the street from our hotel.

It took the better part of Monday to get the bikes through customs and out of cargo. But when the batteries were reconnected, the tires aired up, the tanks filled with gas, the luggage reattached, we said "Let's go home", got on them and headed north on I-95.

On Tuesday, Landon's back tire lost a chunk of rubber ten miles past Lake City, Florida. There happened to be an Interstate Cycles billboard across the highway with a phone number. So we called. They had a tire, so we slowly made our way back to Lake City.

Thanks to Barry and the staff at Interstate Cycles, we were back on the road with a new tire in an hour. We still made it to Pensacola by sunset.

Wednesday, we drove west on I-10 into the rain. At Mobile, Landon headed north to visit family. I drove on west into the storm and got soaked to the bone. The rain let up in Louisiana, but the north wind was worse than Patagonia. The sun came out and it warmed up at the border with Texas. I made it through Houston only slightly scathed by the beginning of rush hour traffic. After six months, the 20,000 mile circle was closed when I pulled into my yard at 10 p.m. It was great to be home. Landon got home on Saturday. Sean will be spending the next month in Brazil before he returns.

It will take a few weeks to get everything cleaned up and things back to normal. It will take longer to figure out what the trip means to me.

Please forgive me a few of quick personal observations:

1. The United States is a nice country to live in, and I'll probably live out the rest of my days here. But it's not Argentina, or Colombia, or Chile. People actually talk with each other in public there; perfect strangers enjoy visiting with each other in places like Bogota, and Santiago, and Rio Mayo. I like that so much. After six months of living in the dynamic public life of Latin America, being on Interstate 10 was disquieting. No lively conversations at filling stations, people didn't even look at each other. No kids in the back seat of a passing car giving the thumbs up along the way. No rolled down windows and impromptu conversations at red lights. I didn't notice it so much before, but, in comparison, the public life of this country feels barren to me now. I wonder how we can make that better. (People on motorcycles in the US wave at each other, though. I really like that, and it seems like a good start.) Maybe it was just me moving west on I-10 at 78 miles per hour, so anxious to get home for Easter. I'm thinking that taking two weeks moving west on US Highway 90 might have provided a better vision of the warmth and vibrancy of my native land. Is it also possible that we as a people are too shy, too cautious, too lazy or too careful with each other in public?

2. Some preliminary advice to anyone considering a journey like ours comes from something Landon said in the first weeks, "When you are getting ready for a trip like this, don't take anything you aren't prepared to lose." I've thought a lot about that remark over the past months. On a journey like this, if you can't deal with losing it, don't take it: your stuff, your motorcycle, or your life. Maybe the best that "adventure" traveling can do is to help us learn how part with things--things we are going to eventually loose anyway. There is a freedom in that, especially when it is bathed in the mysteries of Holy Week. I still have so much to learn on this one.

3. I wish every citizen of our country could engage in lively conversations with our neighbors who live south of the Rio Grande. They know a lot about us, our higher education, our motorcycles and music, our retirement funds, our cities (especially New York and Miami), our entrepreneurial energy and basketball teams. They almost always asked about Hilary, and Barak Obama, and George Bush. I wish everyone could hear the questions about George Bush. When they found out I was an American, so many people wanted to know what I thought about him, and the war in Iraq. They talked about how difficult and expensive it is for them now to get a visa and enter our country. They never openly said so, but I got the impression that they have a lot of questions about the way we are conducting ourselves among the other nations of the world. We need lively conversations with our friends south of the Rio Grande. They have a lot to offer. So do we. And I think they like us.

4. And I am so grateful to have had the chance to travel through Latin America, to see it and to experience the utter hospitality of so many generous people. I look forward to keeping in touch with new friends made along the way. It was so great to see the Southern Cross, the wildlife and native plants, the mountains and streams, to taste the food, drink the wine, hear the music and look at some of the beautiful things our fellow Americans have made over the past 20,000 years. I'm thankful for David, Marcia, Irv, Charlene, and Shawn--dear loved ones who came to visit along the way, and for all my family and friends who have followed our travels and cared so much for us. I thank God for these good gifts. I'm thankful for a good motorcycle and the joy and freedom that two wheels can bring. For men in Latin America (maybe everywhere) having a motorcycle is an unblended celebration of pure masculinity. I'm grateful to be a man, and for the privilege of traveling with two good men like Landon and Sean.

A Riverboat to Manaus, Amazonia

We arrived in Puerto Velho and almost immediately found a boat headed for Manaus. Loading the bikes, as always, was high adventure.
We ended up having to wait a couple days for the boat to actually take off, heavily laden with all manner of cargo, a couple hundred people and two dogs.
Because of all the gear, we had to get a cabin. It was small, the air conditioning was sketchy, the food was not very good, and it was hard to get around on the decks, which were full. Also, some people had a hard time keeping their hands off of the bikes. But words cannot describe what it was like to cruise down this river or what it felt like to cross the Amazon. There was also time to get to know some new friends making their way into all parts of the world. I'm looking forward to keeping in touch.

The scenery

Two little passengers
The maze of hammocks
and music.

We got started two days late. But because all of the rain made the river unusually high, the boat arrived at the floating docks of Manaus in two days instead of four. It all worked out just fine, and we found ourselves in one of the world's major ports, smack dab in the middle of the continent.

BR-364 The real `Road of Death`

After visiting Iguasu Falls from the Brasilian side, we went and toured the Itaupu Dam. I´ll let you all google it to get the details, but this thing is BIG.

We headed north towards Dourados and Rhondonopolis through more soybean country. The soil here is really red, kinda like Mars.

The rains west of Rhondonopolis had slowed the soy harvest, but not the truck traffic on the BR-364. In a short stretch from Rhondonopolis to Cuiaba we must have passed 80 trucks in an hour. Throw in a drizzling rain and the trucks swerving to dodge 3 foot wide potholes on a two lane road, and you have an adrenaline filled day, or two.

The two lane BR-364 doesn´t do alot of meandering, it´s either uphill or downhill. The trucks might slow to 40 kph at the top of the hill, but they make up time by getting up to 140 kph on the way down the other side. Makes me wish I´d taken more physics classes, all this velocity and mass and oncoming traffic stuff.

San Ignacio

Just north of Santa Ana is San Ignacio, an old Jesuit mission that has been partially restored. Above is the front of the church. Below are some shots of a few of the wonderful doors and windows.

The final picture is another view of the front of the church.

Santa Ana in the Misiones district of Argentina

North of Posada on the way to Iquazu Falls, we stopped at two old Jesuit missions. The first was Santa Ana, which has been excavated, but not restored. The above is a view across what was the plaza.




The people lived in long rows of houses organized around the plaza. Here are the foundation stones of one.

To the right of the church was the cemetery. This is a grave without a door.

Here is a closeup of it´s contents. Reminds me a little bit of the Easter Gospel.






The creation wants this place back.








This is the final shot of Santa Ana, the church. Reminds me of some congregations I know in Texas.

Iguazu Falls from the Brazil side

Earlier in the blog we posted pictures of the waterfalls from the Argentina side. Now that we have the $150 visa we have been able to cross over into Brazil and to see the falls from the more panoramic side. It cannot be captured by my little camera, but the pictures below are most of the parts of a truly wonderful sight.

Northward

Leaving the Estancia el Refugio was tough, but the road was calling. The area was in need of rain, but the soybeans looked good.

I went to San Justo to meet up with Horacio, who took me to dinner with his brother and their wives.

The next day they treated me to an asado at their weekend house, or quincho

His son, Juan Martin, gave me a tour of the area, and showed me his best crop of soybeans. Yes, he is standing up.

Uncle Richard would be proud, 1/4 kilo of heaven

I went to Reconquista the next day and got to eat lunch with some of the Rotarians from the last time and one of their newer members.
After lunch, Octavio(l), toured me around and we went to Raul´s(r) wheat flour mill. I got a personal tour from the owner. It was quite interesting for me.

Raul even showed me the BMW Isetta 4 seater he is restoring.